Snippets | November 2017

NaNoWriMo is going well so far. At present, the word count is a little over 50K, though I’ve been realizing that this story may be better-suited to being a short story. Oops. But that’s okay, because it’s been a lot of fun to chase the characters around their storyworld and uncover their secrets and enjoy the messy drafting that can come along with NaNo every now and then. All of this month’s snippets are from my NaNo project, Spinner & Kidd.

First, she tried the number for Donnie at the station, biting her lip as she waited through each ring.

“Largent speaking.”

“Donnie, it’s me.”

A hesitation. “Abi, I thought—never mind. How are things where you are?”

“I’m not sure yet. There’s still…a lot to think about and try to learn. But I wanted to ask if you could look into something for me. I think—I think it might help our case.”

When a criminal complemented one’s ability not to draw attention, it must mean she was doing well.

Largent shifted in his chair and folded his arms. “We do know, actually. It’s why we’re not looking to recruit someone who currently works for him. You’ve already risked a lot in leaving his employ, so what have you got to lose?”

“I’m pretty fond of living, Agent.” And his freedom, meager as it was.

“We’ve never resorted to threats before, and I don’t think now is a good time to start.”

“Donnie, we need his help.”

“I’d like to keep some of my integrity in the process, though.”

“Did you know him well?”

“About as well as one can in this city. You learn real quick to keep your secrets close.”

For a little while, he’d been the driver of such a car as this one, though it was painted a sharp red with silver accenting and a gray-leather interior. Won plenty of races with it too, before he’d lost it to a bet. But that was forever ago.

You’re not going to die, Marcus. We won’t let that happen yet.

Yet. A word that he’d heard so many times its meaning had fade into nothingness.

Abigail knew every name in these stacks of files from years of reading and rereading and rereading again. Every disappearance was different, of course, though all bore the same eerie threads of young victims and few witnesses, and little evidence to aid in the search.

Though they’d made a pact never to tell their parents about it, she and her brothers used to race down the strip of dirt road near their grandparents’ home when they’d spend weeks there in the summer.

He was on his own in a dangerous city. His odds of survival were slim. But he had known all of this when he took the chance of coming here, just like he’d known every risk associated with even taking the offer of a job from the Bureau to begin with.